


Goodbye Foggy

by moon__craters



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Daredevil (TV) Spoilers, Daredevil Season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:17:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22200124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon__craters/pseuds/moon__craters
Summary: A retelling of the last scene of Daredevil season 3 episode 3
Kudos: 12





	Goodbye Foggy

A baseball cap pulled low over his face, Matt Murdock crosses the street, the smells of Hell’s Kitchen assaulting his nose. With his hearing finally fully back, every single whisper, every single gust of wind fills his ears, and he tries his hardest not to be overwhelmed, focusing on the task at hand. It feels as if he’s walking to his death. And he is, in a way. 

How does he know Foggy Nelson will be here? At this bar, on his second shot, wearing a new suit and freshly cropped hair. Maybe he’s been paying more attention to him than he’d care to admit. Maybe Foggy Nelson and Karen Page both are the first and last two things on his mind every day. 

The bar sits on the ground level of the skyrocketing glass building, reaching up into the night like a fist, overtaking the city. And on the very top floor, in the grandest penthouse in the building: Wilson Fisk. Even thinking his name gives Matt a chill. The FBI had just released him from prison the night before, and although they keep him under strict watch, Matt can’t escape the pressing feeling that Fisk is _free_. Even if in only one sense of the word. If the FBI are protecting Fisk, it means he cut a deal. And Matt knows he did, by the way the Albanians were just caught and arrested.

And if Matt knows anything about his friends, he knows that they too, like half of the city standing outside the building for the entire day screaming and protesting with signs, are outraged, pulling their hair out over this man, this _man_ who killed so many, who almost killed Karen, who did kill Mrs. Cardenas. And he’s sitting pretty in a penthouse, king of the castle, almost a free man. Karen will be furious, and he knew she would be there before he heard her voice rounding the corner as he stood there among the protesting crowds. She’ll be talking to the police, to the FBI, to the people in charge who moved Fisk. And there’s no worse place for her to be right now. Matt doesn’t know what Fisk is planning, but he does know he will tear down the city piece by piece. 

Matt had moved away from Karen as though she were poison, seeking to crawl up under his skin. He hated to do it, and it sent a strange sort of feeling down his body, a stab of pain unlike the usual aches he experiences recovering from his most recent injury: the collapsed building that he barely managed to escape and that convinced everyone he knew he was dead. It was better this way, he knew it. And Stick was right, he always had been. Matt had been _blind_ not to see it before. But he would not make the same mistake twice. He already almost cost both of them, his _friends_ , their lives more than once. That knowledge made the stab feel twice as deep. 

Running away from Karen, he had slipped inside the building, a giant hotel crawling with rich snobs who were being chased away by the loud gathering crowds outside. Matt had wandered around a bit, feeling Wilson Fisk in his ear, whispering, taunting him. His voice grating on every nerve in Matt’s body, turning him to stone. _Stop it._ Matt knew he wasn’t really there; he was hundreds of feet above him. But knowing the reality didn’t stop the voice.

And he could almost hear him now, as he makes his way once again up to the building. 

_You tried to stop me, but I’ve won. Isn’t it funny? I will be called a hero, turning in every crime organization in this city, and you’re reduced to nothing. It’s like you never existed._

“Get away from me,” Matt growls out loud. His own voice sounds solid and real to his ears and chases away Fisk’s ghost. 

He pauses before entering through the front door, and lifts his head to the sky. He’s left his cane behind, but he wears his dark glasses. As his mouth twitches, he feels the skin pulling against the fresh scabs. A deep breath brings the light scent of laundered clothes from a laundromat across the way and with it a memory, like a broken scene dancing across his unseeing eyes.

_A man crashing into him, lifting him off his feet. He slams into the ground heavily, and although his back injury screams at him, he jumps to his feet in the next instant, grabbing a brick from the shelf that he somehow knew would be there. He bashes it into his opponent’s head, and the man does not rise. He grabs the shirt of another, who is coming up behind him, and hauls him up and against the wire caging of the shelves of the basement they fight in. Then he beats him, maybe more than he needs to, fist against face, knuckles against teeth. Every blow takes something deep inside him and releases it. The air is thick with the smell of sweat, blood, and a thin layer of laundry soap on top. Finally, he lets the man slump to the ground, and panting, he grabs at the phone on a nearby table. Fingers aching, he dials 911, and reports, “I didn’t see what happened, but there’s a lot of guns here.” It was true, but none of the men even had the chance to use them._

_He doesn’t see Maggie’s face as he rinses blood and sin off his knuckles into the rusted old sink in the basement of the church, but he knows what it looks like in his mind’s eye. She doesn’t say anything, but she watches him, and bandages his hands when he goes to her. The nun doesn’t have to say anything, he knows what she is thinking, can hear their old conversations running through his ears. She will say “God forgives you.” And he will stay quiet, because she does not understand that God can not forgive the devil that runs through his veins._

Matt steps through the doorway of the bar, taking in the scene with all four of his senses. He can feel Foggy Nelson sitting there with his back to the door. He can taste the cologne and the scent of his new suit, even the fresh leather of his shoes. He’s dressed up for something today. Underneath that though, the scents of his family’s meat shop. He has been spending more time with his family recently. Good. And Karen too, he has seen her… Matt picks it out: yesterday. Foggy has drank a little, but not too much. He is alert and clear. Also good.

He means to step forward now, but the weight of what he’s about to do, what he’s about to say, hits him square in the chest. Fisk’s voice is an echo in his ear, but he tunes it out, only hearing the undertones and pitch of the man’s deep voice, but purposefully drowning out the words. Matt’s own heartbeat thunders throughout his body, but he _makes_ himself do it.

“Foggy.” It’s a low sound, just the rasp of what used to be his voice. 

The sound of Foggy’s hand slamming against the bar counter and the slipping of his new shoes against the leg of his tall chair tells Matt he almost falls off his chair.

A few seconds of silence, then incredulous: “Matt?” 

Matt doesn’t let his face change, but his heart melts. He has been lying to himself all along, he has missed him, he has missed his best friend more than anything in the world. But he can’t do this.

“Tell me this isn’t real. Am I hallucinating?”

Matt shakes his head, drawing another step closer to his former friend. “It’s real.”

Foggy laughs, a chuckle. An instant later his arms are around Matt. Matt pats his back, just like he always used to. The pain from Matt’s chest begins spreading, rising into his eyes and nose. He can’t fall apart right now. “Hey Foggy,” he says, still in a whisper. 

Against Matt’s shoulder, Foggy struggles to speak, “How did—Where—” He pulls away and holds Matt at arm’s length. “We all thought you were dead.” There’s a tearful edge to his voice.

“I’m sorry,” Matt says. He can’t tear his arm away from Foggy’s. He can’t believe he’s here, touching him, after all these months hidden away. “I am so sorry.” This isn’t what Matt came here to say, but he can’t help the apology that falls out of his mouth. He is sorry, he’s sorry for hiding from his best friend, he’s sorry for all the hurt he’s caused, and he’s even more sorry for what he’s about to do.

“Does Karen know?”

“Please, sit down Fog,” Matt gestures to his abandoned seat, and Foggy sits down. Matt does too, wincing. “Listen to me.” He shakes his head. “I’m not back.”

“What do you—What?” Foggy laughs a little again, a smile creeping back into his voice. “I’m pretty sure I’m not hallucinating right now.”

Matt closes his eyes hard. He winces again, but not from pain. “I’m not back.” He says it a little louder and stronger, forcing Foggy to listen to him. “Matt Murdock isn’t going to be part of me anymore.”

“What?” Foggy isn’t laughing anymore. 

“Matt Murdock is dead. The only reason I came here is to warn you. And Karen.”

“Dude,” Foggy cuts in.

“Fisk is out, and you’re both in danger.” 

“Matt,” Foggy tries again.

“I’ve had a pretty _rough_ couple of months.” Memories flash through his mind again, reminding him of weeks spent unconscious, and even more weeks spent wishing he were dead. He had been in such a dark place, the only thing that brought him back out of it was Fisk and knowing what he would do to the city. Matt wasn’t doing God’s work anymore, protecting the city. He was just doing what had to be done, and Daredevil was the only thing keeping him breathing. Foggy couldn’t understand that, and he mustn’t. Matt had to do whatever it took to keep him and Karen out of it. “Questioning… the point of it all.” 

Foggy lets out a breath of air, the slight taste of alcohol on his breath floating over to Matt, but he stays quiet.

“I’m going to stop Fisk, Foggy. I’m going after him. But I can only do that if I know you and Karen are safe.”

“Slow down, Matt! I still can’t even believe you’re, like, sitting here in front of me.” Maybe it’s the sheer insanity of the entire situation, but Foggy’s voice holds a chuckle again, as if he’s not quite _hearing_ Matt. And Matt knows he would like to think that, like to think that maybe he was kidding and they could go back to being Nelson and Murdock, even in some sense of the words. But he must know those days were gone, and they could never go back. Those years were as dead as Matt felt himself.

And as much as it pains Matt, he knows that after he finishes this conversation, Foggy will wish it never happened and he had kept on believing that Matt was dead, because it would’ve been easier that way. Matt wishes so too, but he has to keep him and Karen safe, and warning them is the only way to do it.

“I know you will try to get involved, Karen too. I know you will both try to fight this in some way, and you probably already have started.” Here, Matt leans in, earnest. “But I’m telling you Foggy, I _need_ you to stay out of it. Leave it to me.” His words feel empty, like bones. Unfeeling and insulting. And they are.

“No,” Foggy says, an edge to his voice. “ _No_.”

Matt waits, eyebrows furrowed. 

“You don’t get to show up and say something like that and expect me to be cool with it!”

“I don’t need you to be cool with it. I need you to listen to me.” Matt knows that this is what will hurt Foggy most of all: showing up and only talking about Fisk. Not talking about him or Foggy, not asking how his family is, not seeming to care. But by _God_ does Matt care. 

“ _You were my best friend_ ,” Foggy says.

The words cut deep into Matt. “I was wrong to become your friend,” he says quietly. “I…” Years and years of friendship fall flat to the ground of that bar. “I put you in danger. It was selfish of me.” 

Foggy says nothing, but Matt can feel pain radiating off of him in waves. Matt knows, because he feels it too. But the _only_ thing that matters is keeping Foggy safe, and if this is the only way…

“I have to stop making the same mistake.”

Time slows.

“We’re done buddy,” Matt says. 

The words seem to echo, even in the pretty bar with soft music and low chatter. 

“ _It’s over._ ”

_Whatever you do, you cause pain and suffering. It would’ve been better if you had died when the building collapsed. Or maybe it would’ve been better if you’d never been born at all._ Matt can’t tell if it’s Fisk talking to him, or himself. Maybe it’s God. 

He stands up. The ground feels shaky, but with his hearing restored, he’s as firm and steady as ever. There are two halves of him: Matt Murdock and Daredevil. In that moment, Matt Murdock peels away and disintegrates. Matt is dead.

“There is something seriously wrong with you.” Foggy’s voice shakes with sorrow and anger. Matt can taste his tears in the air, mixing with his own. 

“I know,” he says quietly. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t tell Karen you saw me. Tell her to stay away from Fisk, and you do the same.” He turns to go.

“Do you even hear yourself?” 

“Goodbye, Foggy.” He leaves the bar.

“Matt,” Foggy calls after him. “ _Matt!_ ”

Matt feels numb as he exits into the street. His heart is broken, worse than before, worse than after Elektra died. He is now truly alone, which is what he needs to be. With Foggy and Karen safe, he can finally focus on Fisk. He’s never been a killer, a murderer. He always told himself he was different from them, he was different from Castle. But now, in order to truly stop Fisk, he might have to kill him as surely as he has just killed himself.


End file.
